Patty Patten Tiffany

Sea Shell Dreams

 

 

She knew everyone thought she was odd. Sandy, a name her beach bum parents had chosen with reverence, saw the strange stares when she walked through the small town, heard the whispers and snickers, as she forced her eyes forward. One step at a time, she thought.

 

“I heard her parents were some kind of hippie witches,” said the plump, bland waitress who thought Sandy couldn’t see her looking out through the dining room window. Two frumpy servers huddled behind the glass of the cheap restaurant, trading snide comments while they watched Sandy make her way down the main street.

 

She had lived alone for some time now, after Alma and Joe had drowned one stormy night on their sailboat.  A romantic picnic was all it was supposed to be. But the squall came out of nowhere and ripped the mast off their tiny vessel without mercy.

 

Sandy imagined them, as they had always been, beautiful, long and lean, with big smiles. She thought she could guess what they had said in those last moments.

 

“Hang on, Baby, we can make it.”

 

“I’m so scared, Joe, take my hand. I love you.”

 

“Never give up…we’re gonna make it.” Always the dreamer. And so often wrong.  Wrong about the peace of a small town, the store he opened there, and the people he trusted. 

 

She was sure they held hands until the end. She could see that so clearly as she waited in the darkness of the storm long into the night, hoping. But the sea stayed dark for days, as if held in place by some strange vortex.

 

The Coast Guard searched but found only remnants of the sailboat—nothing more.

 

Sandy had just finished high school with honors and big dreams to escape the sleepy evil of the beach town where she and her family had never fit in.

 

Then the scholarship fell through, and there was no other money. Perhaps there was just enough pity for her in the otherwise heartless town, so she got a job at the only hotel as a groundskeeper. She asked to work at night to avoid the heat and didn’t mention it was to avoid the eyes she knew were prying.

 

The quiet of the night with the cool, damp wind from the sea soothed her as if her mother were stroking her cheek. Sandy could hear her whispering, “I’m with you, Little Sandy girl.”

 

She heard her father, too. “Hey, Little Darlin, work hard, and Daddy’ll buy you something nice to wear.”

 

The night became her day and she didn’t have to see the people who had rejected her and her funky folks. Sandy lived for the moonlight, the garden, the clattering palms, and the closeness she felt with Joe and Alma.

 

One night, she was startled when she saw a message scrawled in the sand around the barrel palm…”Come to the beach.” it said, “We have a surprise.”

 

Eager but wondering, Sandy dropped her rake, scurried to the beach, and waited, just at the water’s edge, with warm tide lapping at her toes.

 

She thought she heard the wind say, “Lie down, Darlin’.” So she did, half in the water half out. So gentle, she thought, as the waves caressed her.  I could lie here forever.

 

Sandy drifted off to sleep, and when she woke up, it was nearly morning, so she went back to the garden, finished raking and weeding and headed home in the early light. She slept again and dreamed of sea creatures pulling a chariot for her across the sky.

 

Around sunset, she awoke and stretched like a happy cat. She made a snack and began to dress for the night of gardening.

 

That’s when she noticed the shells where her earlobes should be…an elegant row like an ear cuff that sparkled like gems. She touched them gingerly and wondered what or how?

 

Her image faded in the mirror, and her parents waved and said hellos, blowing kisses. She knew they had given her this gift. Always quirky in their tastes.

 

She blew kisses back, and as they faded, she pulled on jeans and grabbed her snack for a long night.

 

Once at the hotel garden, she checked the list of tasks for the night and set to work, first gathering and clipping tattered palm fronds, then trimming faded crimson blossoms from the bougainvillea, and repositioning the border stones. Last, she carefully repotted the overgrown ponytail palm and dusted the benches sprinkled throughout for guests seeking a private moment.

 

Just before dawn, she was finished and stood leaning on her rake surveying the perfection of the little space in this world she did control. She wished she could do the same in the sleepy little town, cleaning, trimming, and generally creating beauty where there were now rough, harsh edges. A gardener of mankind, she thought.

 

But the light was creeping over the distant peaks, and she turned to gather her rucksack and gloves. She was eager to get to the cove to see if another magical moment with family would come.

 

When she got there, the tide was coming in, and its swirl around her toes felt like a caress.  She stared out at the endless blue and waited with excitement.

 

“Sandy,” she heard a distinct if quavering call. “Oh, Sandy.”

 

And then she saw the images rise from the crest of the wave.

 

“We’re here, Darling.”

 

“Mom, Dad,” she called back, as she thought she saw the images waving.

 

“How do you like your earrings?” her dad mouthed. Could she hear him?

 

“I love them, Dad. It makes me special.”

 

“You will always be special, Sandy,” her mother said.

 

“And we have another gift.” they made the words in unison as they swayed on the sea.

 

“What can you give me from…where you are,” she pressed out the words with the pain of loss.

 

“Oh, you would be surprised how many things we who are gone can do,” they chorused almost without sound. “We can give you the gift to be a gardener of life.”

 

“But I would rather have you back,” she cried. “I need you.”

 

Her parents’ heads lowered and their hands clasped.

 

“That we cannot do, Darling, but we are sending you special garden shears.  With them, you can shape your town, your fate, and your world.”

 

“But how?”

 

“Go to your garden. Find the shears; they will teach you.”

 

“Mom, Dad, may I have one more hug?”

 

“You’ll have them in your dreams, Sandy. Always in your dreams. Now, take our gift and make the world you want. We will always love you. Goodbye, Darling.  You will hear us on the ocean breeze and the crash of the tide.”

 

At that, they began to slip back into the sea, until each waved their hands one last time.

 

She knew they were gone forever.  What could shears do, she wondered? But she turned and rushed back to her garden.

 

It was still early, and no one saw her. Sandy let her eyes drift along the garden, along the stonewall, the tall cacti and bushes, and finally, the bench, shaded by bougainvillea. There, something sparkled.

 

With a few quick strides, she had it. Were those jewels that gleamed?

 

She tried the handle and they fit her hands exactly. No mistaking the gift.

 

Holding the shears for a moment, she waited for a sign.

 

Sandy could sense a vibration that formed words.

 

The shears said, “Rest now, and think what you’ll change first.”

 

She wrapped them carefully and laid them next to her when she drifted to sleep in her tiny cottage.

 

When she awoke at sunset, the shears were glowing, and she picked them up. Immediately, she could hear their vibration.

 

Good evening, Sandy. Did you sleep well?

 

Without speaking, she thought the words, Yes, I did.

 

Then we should get ready. Did you think of the change you’d like to make first?

 

Well, yes, Sandy said. I want the town to be friendly and remember my parents fondly.

 

That’s a tall order but a good start. When night falls, take me to Main Street.

 

Sandy couldn’t wait and wondered how much they could do in one night.

 

Once on the street, she was amazed at how fast the shears moved. And how sharp the blades.

 

You see, dear Sandy, the gardens hold the answer. They store our memory and spirit of the people, both the poison and elixirs, all tied to us just as our blood is so very close to chlorophyll…only a few atoms divide us. Let’s start with our nasty waitresses.

 

The shears seemed electrified as they nipped and clipped at the flower boxes outside the town’s restaurant. And truly, when finished, even the shabby flower boxes looked brighter.

 

On to the town square, Sandy!

 

She remembered all the mean looks her paisley clad parents had experienced there. Yes, she thought, we’ll turn those prickly pears to poppies.

 

And they did. The fading bushes and blossoms were made new and bright.  The even added some orchids and gardenias. The fragrance alone was magical.

 

Next, she headed for the school where they turned an old, scraggly aloe and mother-in-law tongue into a perfect size and shape.  When she passed the shears over the bare spots, hydrangea and queen lilies appeared.

 

At the mayor’s office, they replaced dried banana trees for cardboard palm and firecracker, the red on green so festive and merry.

 

Surveying their work, Sandy saw a new town and a new day. For once, she couldn’t wait to sleep or to wake up in this little burg. After leaving an excuse note at the hotel, she dreamed deeply of a perfect town, a perfect world.

 

The shears didn’t glow in the morning, so she dressed quickly and wore her finest paisley…why not tempt fate she thought? All the drab clothes she had worn to fit in seemed too boring for the new day to come.

 

As she entered the main street she could feel a change, a sea change perhaps?

 

Passing the restaurant, she looked in the window, and the waitresses were smiling and waving. She waved back.

 

At the town square, so many people were chatting and laughing, she could hardly believe it.  Even the mayor was there, and he called her over. “Sandy, how are you?”

 

Since no one had ever asked about her or her parents, she knew there was a bridge of plants and flowers that now connected them, and all things.

 

“Quite well, Sir,” she answered. “Not bad at all.”

 

“Come have a tea with us, then, in our new garden square.”

 

And she did--with those who had ostracized her before. Now, they seemed like the flowers she and the shears created…bright, loving of light, and colorful.

 

“How are you, Sandy?” they seemed to say at once.  “We’ve missed you and your dear parents. Are you well? Are you still thinking of school?”

 

The warmth of it felt like the family she once had…but larger and with so much life force.

 

One chat led to another and then a long dinner at the hotel. “Stay,” her boss said, “The garden can wait.”

 

Still, the evening seemed short her, and feeling loved made it even shorter.

 

“Sleep tight,” said the elderly hotel owner.

 

“Don’t be a stranger,” said the mayor, while townspeople called, “Yes, Sandy, do come back to the square tomorrow.”

 

“I won’t be a stranger,” Sandy said. “I will always be a part of you, just like the new plants and gardens you love. And the town will know the joy of a garden’s green and life forever.

 

"So good night, then, friends. But I’ll be quitting my job.

 

"Tomorrow, I leave for Washington.”

 

 

 

Patricia Patten Tiffany was born in Appalachia, descendant of the infamous McCoy clan. Daydreaming and books allowed her to travel the world as a child, while her first real travel came through college study abroad in Austria.Her master’s in German was a great fit for a career in higher education, and she retired in 2013 after 30-plus years, mostly as a dean of admission in Virginia.She has called Mexico, Canada and Germany home and is on a second western sojourn in a temperamental RV with her husband, a puppy, and a very strange cat.